


Vantablack

by yoursatanboyfriend



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Manipulation, its a drabble that was meant to be a series, one day maybe? one day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoursatanboyfriend/pseuds/yoursatanboyfriend
Summary: Uncle Ben dies, and Loki steps up to fill his role.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just re-read this and decided to put it here since it's a problematic ship. Was going to be a series but I abandoned it bc hahaha.

Peter Parker did not like purple prose. Every attempt he made at using it fell flat. It sounded too bland, too cliche or too forced and exaggerated. Floral metaphors weren't for everyone and it definitely wasn't for Peter. Floral anything wasn't for Peter. In fact, he'd ban floral in general so he wouldn't have to deal with Aunt Mays terrible taste in Décor.

Aunt May. He'd done what he could to keep her safe. He'd swallowed his pride and played dead often enough to start considering 'fake it til you make it' might have some truth to it because he was sure death was something akin to this. Loki didn't like it when he played corpse but it didn't seem to anger the God too much. Dislike was different to full out disdain and Peter had learnt that the hard way; up close and personal, with plenty of civilians dead and scars that Loki had used magic to fade.

'as black as night'.

No matter how bad the metaphor was, it was the only one Peter could think was appropriate; Loki's heart was black, as black as night. A cloudy night with stars hidden so well, you'd think there were none out there. The type of night sky that left you feeling desolated and alone in the universe as you feebly questioned your existence and the meaning of everything. Peter Parker, poet ex-fucking-traordinare.

Peter questioned a lot these days. He was never sure where he stood with Loki. Asking made him feel too small and insignificant but Loki had that effect on him lately without much effort. A simple gaze left Peter feeling scrutinized and insecure. Besides, he suspected if he asked Loki what their relationship meant, the God would only laugh coldly and smirk in a way that said ' _What relationship? Don't tell me you think we have something_ —'.

Peter would never figure out Loki and yet he was deeply fearful of losing him. He had enough abandonment issues and the trope was getting old. It was time for the writers of his life to move the fuck on and give him a little stability and peace.

Asking also meant he'd have to say _it out loud_. He couldn't bring himself to openly discuss his more-than-platonic relationship with another **man**. Peter was not ready for that. Not now, possibly never, now that he thought about it. If not for Loki, he would've gladly buried this side of him forever in an unmarked grave.

_Your friendly neighbourhood faggot._

_lock your sons up. I heard Spider-Man's a sexual deviant! Lord knows why the police allow a pervert like that to run around._

_peter parker, pro cock-sucker._

Shit it rhymed.

Fuck everyone. He had enough to deal with. People already thought he was a menace and if somehow that got out, he'd be ruined. Well, ruined _er_. Was it even a word?

Narrow minds caged more than just the owner.

Peter was grateful, however. By being the instigator and aggressor, Loki had taken that responsibility from him. Loki had kissed him first, Loki had aggressively initiated their first time, Loki had seduced and groomed _him_ —Peter was free from guilt, in that retrospect. It wasn't his fault. Loki had come onto him, Loki had forced him—

Yeah right. Who was he fucking kidding? He obviously wanted it to happen, even if he feigned being a victim inside his head.

He only had himself to blame. Shame and guilt were Peter's best friends whenever he did a bit of introspection and so introspection became something Peter avoided.

* * *

'as black as night'.

Black was a colour Peter found intimidating and morbid. It wasn't a colour, it was an absence of colour. It was a beginning. The void; a state of nothingness.

Loki was a nothingness. The type of nothingness _Nietzsche_ wrote about; the shadowed abyss that looked into you- but only if you were stupid enough to look into it first.

Curious and intrigued, Peter had looked. For a long long time.

And Loki had looked back.

He had only himself to blame.

Fuck Nietzsche.

And fuck Loki too.

* * *

But like black was a beginning, Peter believed Loki was the beginning, and like the colour black, he could be the end too.

* * *

Sometimes they'd talk afterwards- or Peter would do the talking and the man would ignore him- and sometimes Peter had no voice, courtesy of Loki. He was accustomed to it by now, Loki being Loki, and Peter had watched one too many films and films had taught him that people like Loki had been hurt before. Bad guys were bad because of the past. He'd been hurt and was looking to make others hurt, unless Peter could break through the ice cage Loki had confined himself to.

It was cliché but Peter believed it, right down to the ice cage. Loki had given him justice for Uncle Ben's death and he would give Loki freedom from himself.

Ice cage? Peter was clearly getting desperate to justify Loki's actions. Desperation was an art he'd perfected.

* * *

Peter really did believe Loki liked him, in his own Loki way. Loki had spent much time in Peter's room, in Peter's bed, at Peter's side and in Peter's mind. Sometimes Peter liked to think his thoughts in Loki's voice. It reminded him of when Loki whispered in his ears; the effect is nearly identical.

* * *

He's taken Loki's photo enough times to have filled a shoebox. Candid photos, mainly. As a photographer, Peter acknowledged Loki's striking beauty.

He kept the shoebox hidden in a place more secret than his porno collection. He could explain porn but not why he kept so many photos of a beautiful man. Photos clearly taken by him, and some taken in very _compromising_ situations.

Peter wishes Loki would use his female form more often.

* * *

Maybe night wasn't dark enough. You could still hide in the dark, safe and sound. Hiding within Loki meant helplessly falling into oblivion.

_Oblivion._

Fuck metaphors, they sounded lame.

* * *

Still, night wasn't dark enough. Like black drew in heat, Loki drew in Peter and despite the man's cold, Peter was burning. A cold flame that frostbit and broke everything Loki didn't like in Peter.

Was that really so bad?

He was better than better, thanks to Loki. As Spider-Man, he was strong, powerful and feared. He was everything he'd never thought he could be. Capable. A leader.

As Peter, he cowered in fear whenever Loki raised his voice.

You had to take the good with the bad.

* * *

"Scientists develop a material so black, you can't see it..." Peter read the title aloud. The attached image was a shocking uncomfortable black. 'Black hole' came to mind and Peter hoped it never came into fashion. It was not a practical colour by an means. The inability to reflect light would make it dangerous attire. And who wanted to look like a floating head? Or a floating torso? Images of run way models popped into his head and he shuddered comically. He'd pass.

"Humans focus on such trivial matters. How like them to be unsatisfied with black and to attempt to create an even blacker black as if black was too unsatisfyingly...black."

Peter cracked a smile at hearing the snarkiness in Loki's voice. Snarky Loki was his favourite. "Well, it's not like that. It'll actually be pretty useful when it comes to technology. See-"

"When did I ask for an educational lesson on human technology?"

Peter shrugged and avoided eye contact with Loki. He suddenly felt self-conscious. His eyes remains fixated on the black. He was being pulled in, somehow. A queasy feeling bubbled inside him and he dropped his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the more normal black of his keyboard.

An idea popped in his mind.

Metaphors sucked but this- this was Loki. This beautiful, uncomfortable, unsettling, menacing, engulfing swallow-you-whole-

This- this

 ** _Vantablack_**.

"You alike me to this colour? I must concur-"

Peter choked on air.

"You truly do posses no talent for metaphors."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actually had a first chapter........and Spidey/Peter is a mix of Andrew Garfield's and comic!Peter. Will I continue this? Maybe. Some bits and pieces of Loki are from the starts of an RP that never finished, so credit goes to my old RP partner.

_I don't know why you came along_  
At such a perfect time  
But if I let you hang around  
I'm bound to lose my mind

" **Your heart is as black as night", Melody Gardot**

* * *

Playing superhero can get a guy killed.

Superhero: a word Peter attributed to anyone who, despite all odds, dared to stand up against evil and injustice. Evil and injustice being a wide spectrum, naturally. From the little things; like people cutting in line and bringing loud kids to the cinema, to the bigger things, like murdering old men in cold blood.

Uncle Ben was a hero. It got him killed. And Uncle Ben's death had laid the foundation for the hesitancy Peter continuously felt at becoming a vigilante.

Up until now, Peter had done nothing particularly meaningful as Spider-Man. He'd done wrestling for a quick buck; gathered a nice fan base, but the pay was lousy for the work and drama it came with.  
He _tried_ to forget that he originally first attempted joining the Fantastic Four's group, until learning they didn't get paid. That was embarrassing – both them not getting paid and his blunder at assuming they did. They must be loaded to be able to do what they did without any financial worries. It seemed as though all super-heroes were trust fund babies, multi-millionaire entrepreneurs or some other occupation that left them with no money troubles.

And this is why Peter did not think of himself as a super-hero. He wasn't doing shit for free. Not now and preferably never.

He might consider it if he won the lottery. With his infamous Parker luck though, that would not be happening in this life time and definitely not in the next. That good old Parker luck. The kind that gets you killed over chocolate milk.

Despite all attempts at avoiding any sort of heroic label, his quest for revenge had earned him a vigilante reputation. A biased one at that, he only reprimanded scum who looked _like that guy_ and the police and tabloids had noticed.  
There was much speculation surrounding Spider-Man and his motives but rumours and gossip were useless; they could never be confirmed. Spider-Man would never talk. Other than the photos provided by some lucky young college kid, the public knew very little.

In his weeks of depression - with self-reflection as an unfortunate side-effect- Peter had thought about Uncle Ben's death enough times to start to wonder: how many times had he ignored bad behaviour, but had not been the one to suffer the consequences? How many others had lost their 'Uncle Bens due to his selfishness?

How any 'Uncle Bens' had died because they wanted to play hero? How long before Aunt May was left alone?

He wouldn't play hero because he _couldn't_ play hero.

He couldn't.

But a flame of empathy had been lit inside Peter and it nagged and licked at his insides perpetually, asking him to look at the bigger picture- bigger than Aunt May's potential desolate fate. Bigger than his materialism, or rather realism- money made life easier. It was a fact. Easier meant better. Aunt May deserved better. He deserved better.

Still, for now, he'd only be Spider-Man when the hunger for vengeance came back. And it came regularly, every 3 months. Like clockwork.

Hopefully the batteries in the clock would run out soon.

* * *

Peter stepped into the house, with a hand rubbing against his side- his left side, to be exact. He'd crashed into cement earlier in the night; no real excuse other than clumsiness and bad aim. Even Spider-Man had his off days and they were happening regularly now. Juggling two lives proved more challenging than Peter anticipated and he was often left perpetually exhausted. Not to mention he'd need to find a job soon too…a real one.

Grabbing a carton of juice from the fridge, he strolled to his room while calling out to Aunt May, and received no reply, leading him to assume she had turned in early for the night. Better for him. It meant no 21 questions about where he'd been and if he was doing drugs and if he cared about his future. The usual she-bang.

He paused outside his door, Spidey senses humming ever so lightly, alerting him of something, or someone in his room. He snuck a peek; mentally armed with possible quips for any occasion and ready for anything – be it burglar or surprise—

Loki?

He managed to sneak a decent enough peek at the intruder to establish an identity. Indeed, it was only Loki, the God of Mischief.

_Only_. Heh. Not every teen could say they had God visit their bedroom. Well, except for Mary although Peter wasn't sure she counted.

Peter had met Loki early in his time as Spider-Man. He'd helped the God with some weird voodoo mumbo jumbo that Peter knew nothing about at the time, and still remained whole fully unapologetically ignorant about. Magic stuff. Magic wasn't his thing but hey, it won him a favour from Loki and the man was strong enough for him to value that favour.

But owing a favour to Peter didn't mean Loki could show up uninvited whenever he felt like it. Such a level of intimacy had definitely not been established during their previous encounter. Peter guessed he had given the man the wrong impression.

Peter eyed the God. New attire, lots of leather, which Peter personally felt to be highly impractical and inflexible, and a distinct lack of gold armour.

Damn. Peter had liked that gold helmet.

He didn't bother giving too much thought as to how the God found him or his identity out – he was a God after all. It was almost expected. Peter liked and valued his privacy, but knew it was pointless to throw a fit over the inevitable. Good thing Loki was on his side.

"Oh, it's you. Again. A pleasant surprise—maybe an unpleasant, well, it depends on what this is about—this is very inconvenient time by the way, do you need something?" He rushed through words while removing his back-pack and tossing it to his bed. His web shooters will still attached to his wrist should the dodgy God try anything. It was better to be prepared.

The man turned to face Peter fully, with apathetic green eyes giving him a once over, from head to toe; a scrutinizing gaze that left Peter feeling self-conscious. It was his first time seeing Loki's full face undecorated. The man was no doubt attractive; classic good looks most photographers were dying to shoot. _No homo._

"I am a God – address me as such. " Loki took a step forward; an inviting gesture although it seemed it would not be taken as such. "I expected you to be older. You are but a boy."

"You know I hate to disappoint…God? God." Peter spoke with an inflection reminiscent of a valley girl but the other didn't seem particularly amused. Or perhaps he didn't get the reference.

"Watch your tone. I am here on personal errands of sorts, _human_. You'd be wise not to mention this to anyone lest you wish unfortunate circumstances to befall upon certain loved ones." Loki spoke clear and concise; Peter got the message, loud and clear: do not fuck with me, kiddo. Or your aunt goes dead.

Peter nodded. The threats had already begun; puzzling, as they'd previously parted ways on good terms too. What crawled up Loki's ass? He figured the God was perhaps in a bad mood; he even addressed Peter as 'human' rather than by his name. Even 'mortal flesh bag' was better than 'human'.

Human. Peter didn't like this. He didn't like Loki here, in his house, in his room. But he would deal with it, for now.

"No need to throw threats around if you need a few honorifics. Sir Loki. Roger that. I'm Peter without the mask, Spider-man with the mask; they are not interchangeable and I don't need honorifics—although if you wanna throw a few in…" He cleared his throat loudly, hoping his sense of humour could warm the atmosphere—

No such luck, it seemed.

"So, personal errands. Wanna elaborate?" Peter tossed his juice carton onto his bed and crossed his arms. If he'd tried sipping that now, Loki would no doubt freak out about 'disrespect'. Even without the trade-mark horned helmet, the God of Mischief was intimidating. His presence alone seemed to dominate the room.

Loki said nothing. The man's eyes roamed to the photo Peter had stuck up on his wall: Uncle Ben's killer. It remained there, as a reminder for past mistakes and a catalyst for his nightly runs. The image had burned itself into the back of his eyelids by now.

"You are troubled, are you not?" The man strolled toward the image and tore it off in a quick motion. Holding it up to face Peter, he asked: "And this is the root of all your troubles. Such an average mortal man ails you? I expected more from the so called Man of Spiders."

"What? You hear that through the godly grapevine?" Peter scoffed but reminded himself to watch his tongue. "Did you come here to make fun of me? Cause that's pretty low even for you."

"If you will not speak then perhaps I shall acquaint myself with one who is familiar with your personal affairs?"

Peter sighed. "I didn't mean any disrespect, _your lord and highness_. I'm having a rough day, a rough week and rough everything." He side-stepped towards his bed, body facing Loki and eyes never straying. Something was wrong here but Peter wasn't entirely sure what it was.

* * *

The boy was mouthy, as Loki had anticipated, but easily tameable. He was but a child, and Loki had known this before-hand. Feigning ignorance was a necessary move.

"Now, tell me, what has this _lowly_ human done to capture your time and interest? While the rest of the city goes untouched, save for accidently, by your…mighty gloved hand of _justice_." A mocking smirk accompanied the last word but lacked belligerence to be truly scornful.

"Real funny. Do you wanna sit? It's a long story." Peter shuffled over to the bed and began fixing it up, scooting sheets and pillows to their correct spots. His juice carton lay forgotten, settling itself in the large crease between pillow and sheets.

"Had I felt the desire to sit I would have done so."

"Yeah, the whole 'Mi casa es su casa' is—is the right approach, definitely…" Peter muttered as he awkwardly segued from tidying the bed into sitting on it.

Once settled and ready, Peter cleared his throat. "Killed…He killed my uncle. A while ago." Peter's eyes were fixated upon Loki's clothing as he spoke, only meeting Loki's gaze once or twice. The memories of that night prickled at his vision and illogically, Peter worried Loki would see what had transpired should he hold the God's gaze for too long. He didn't want Loki to see _he_ had allowed the man to escape, and that _he_ was to blame for idly standing by; his silence and passivity bought with chocolate milk. Fucking chocolate milk.

Oh, but Loki saw.

"Most…unfortunate." Loki said as he moved towards the door, passed Peter, to close it. A light hand did the trick and the movement seemed to have startled the boy, if only a little. They were alone now, in a closed space. Creating a sense of isolation was important.

He turned once again to Peter, squinting his eyes in contemplation and with a half nod, said: "I will give you a gift. It is not the favour I owe you, but entirely separate. If you wish, I will aid you in finding this man…" he brought his arms behind him and let them rest, one hand still holding the photo.

"…and you may finally have your much- _desired_ justice."

"Are you pulling my leg?" Peter asked, wide-eyed and every bit suspicious. God of Mischief offering to do something altruistic? Not happening.

"I've read enough to grasp the intention behind your…nightly extracurricular activities." Loki laid the photo on the bed nearby Peter, in full view. "I know enough of the call of vengeance to know it cannot be so easily ignored."

"No more cat and mouse games." Loki continued, tilting his head slightly, black locks barely moving. He did not smile but softened his gaze considerably.

Cat and mouse. Should that not be 'Spider and Mouse'? Did spiders consume mice? If not, then this boy would be the first. Loki would ensure that meal, and he would ensure the desire for such a meal never subsided.

"Don't jerk me around, Loki."

"I offer you a gift. It'd be wise to speak with caution for a gift can quickly become a curse."

Peter snapped. "You come into my home, uninvited, and pretend we're buddy buddy? Offering me gifts that supposedly come with no compensation on your end? Oh yeah, all while threatening me and my family."

Loki sneered. "Ah yes, it must be hard to imagine one would show kindness to one such as yourself."

"Stop being scary so I can stop kissing your ass." _Shit._

"Would you prefer to trade in your favour?"

"Why are you here? Really?"

"As I've previously stated: personal errands. I stopped by to greet and old friend, and after having found them in peril, I have decided to offer help."

Loki was messing with them; tricking him, this was some hilarious prank and poor Peter- always the butt of jokes, always the victim. He was done with life mocking him whenever it had the chance.

A cold hand on Peter's shoulder broke his concentration; a cold so deep it penetrated his clothing as if it he wore none. "It gets better. You may have my word on that."

Peter focused on the intrusive hand, stealing one or two looks at its owner.

_It gets better_.

"There is a time when you must accept help. It is not shameful to do so." Before Peter could reply, Loki removed the hand. "Now, will that be a yes? A no and I will leave you be."

Maybe Loki wasn't all bad, Peter thought. It seemed the God was unaccustomed to interacting like a normal person, or with normal people. Peter couldn't hold it against him, and perhaps accepting help wouldn't be a bad thing…

"I…" Peter chose his next words much more cautiously then his previous ones."… did not mean to offend you, _Sir_ , not at all. I will gladly _gladly_ accept your offer, but I just don't want this to turn into a scene from Caesar, with me lying on the floor bleeding, grasping 'Et too, Loki'.' I'm just taking necessary precautions to...every day possible Greek betrayals and—I—I have trust issues, you don't really wanna hear about those—"

Peter shuffled to his left, putting more distance between himself and Loki.

"-very boring, standard cliché. Soo…"

The boy's demeanour had changed. He was nervous, reluctant but wanted to say yes, desperately, and was making excuses on why he could not. Loki smiled internally. Physical contact always did wonders when it came to manipulation.

"The connection between one accepting help and gaining a wound hold distinct differences." The boy was wary, with good reason, and it confirmed to Loki that he was not entirely foolish despite how easily he had indeed accepted the 'gift'.

Peter was desperate enough to agree. He'd worked with Loki before and maybe he'd been a little too sensitive earlier. He _was_ stressed after all…

"Any fine print? Rules? "

"You are to accompany me. I would like to see you deal with your demons, first hand."

"So you like to watch huh? Knew you were into that."

"There is an implication there that I am not oblivious to."

Peter shrugged and suddenly became aware of how naked his face was. Both of them, bare-faced. It was an odd observation but Peter liked it none the less. Maybe being able to talk to someone about this, a little human- or God- interaction had done some good.

Maybe.

"So uh, when?"

"Tomorrow night."

* * *

Peter watched as Loki went to stand by the window, in the same position Peter had found him. "I trust you will be ready when I return."

"Yep." Peter sad with a small wave. He'd be ready.

"It will get better, Peter."

And with those last words, Loki was gone.

_It gets better._

_It will get better._

As if he could really trust the God of Mischief but still—

Those words were nice.

**Author's Note:**

> Th original plan was, as copied and pasted:  
> An AU. Artistic liberties had to be taken, don't judge too harshly. 
> 
> Peter wasn't always a crime-fighter. It was Uncle Ben's death that changed him. I've been curious as to who Spider-Man would be if he had taken a different message from Uncle Ben's death.
> 
> But that would be out of character- if he was on his own.
> 
> A fellow Rper and I decided on a plot that would incorporate Spiderfrost (since we Rped Peter and Loki and they have great chemistry in the comics. Spidey's an agent of chaos, aw yeah) I lost contact with them and I decided to create a fanfiction out of the plot since we never got far.
> 
> Peter becomes Spider-Man but does not fight crime. He does wrestling for a short while before retiring and spending his time swinging around in costume and being a spaz. During that time, Peter meets and (reluctantly) aids Loki with something. (Their interaction would've been similar to their team-up in the comics, with Loki being more laid-back and humorous). Loki departed, owing Peter a favour. Shortly after, Uncle Ben dies and Peter becomes obsessed with revenge. His negative mental state ultimately ends up attracting Loki. Loki is now similar to his Avenger's counterpart and Peter notices the difference almost immediately but figures Loki's moody. Loki sees an opportunity to fuck around with Peter's poor mental state and becomes a regular in Peter's life. He successfully manages to become a sort of mentor/father-figure to Peter with Peter welcoming it, with the role Uncle Ben formerly filled now being occupied once again.
> 
> And of course, with Loki's influence, Peter turns out a /little/ different.
> 
> yikes why did I never continue this


End file.
